


Liar Liar

by Anonymous



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Age Play Little Deceit | Janus Sanders, Age Regression/De-Aging, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I guess? I don't know you can decide, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sad, Sad Ending, Thumb-sucking, Unsympathetic Light Sides (Sanders Sides)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29112120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Warnings:- sad
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36
Collections: Anonymous





	Liar Liar

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> \- sad

Janus slides further into the tub, clutching the blanket closer. He's tired, so tired. He wants to sleep. He wants a nap. He can't. He can't sleep. He can't take a nap.  
  
He wonders how one could be so aware of the passage of time, yet so unaware of it at the same time. Precious seconds tick by, seconds he could be using to be doing something, _anything_.  
  
He shivers, despite the steam filling the air. His thoughts are foggy, just like the bathroom mirror.  
  
He's cold. Always cold.  
  
There's an itch under his skin that won't go away. Feels like spiders, crawling all over his skin. He wants it to go away.  
  
He rubs the blanket against his cheek. It smells bad. Hasn't been washed in decades, but he loves it all the same. It gives him a sliver of the comfort he so desperately desires.  
  
He distantly wonders what the Lights would do if they found him in there, shower running, hiding away from his responsibilities like a coward. Wonders if Patton would reach in and pick him up out of the tub to cuddle him. Wonders if Roman would sing his favourite Disney song for him. Wonders if Logan read his one of his books to him. Wonders if Virgil would smile at him again.  
  
He has work. He has so much work.  
  
The word repeats itself in his head like a broken record.  
  
_Work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work_  
  
He can't bear the thought of the ever growing stack of papers piling up on his desk. He shuts his eyes. His back is numb, and there's an ache pulsing under his temples. He turns over, and rests the side his head on the tub. It doesn't help.  
  
He slips his thumb in his mouth. He's ruining the Duke's manicure, he knows, and ingesting polish probably isn't much good for him either, but he doesn't care.  
  
The noise of the shower is grounding. The rush of water hitting the floor fills his mind with static, and he's thankful.  
  
His eyes sting with the threat of tears, and he lets them run, for the first time in a while. There's no Patton here to look at him with pity. There's no Roman here to accuse him of faking.  
  
So he lets himself cry.  
  
His shoulders shake with silent sobs, and, for once he doesn't try desperately to slow his stuttering breaths. He'll wake someone up, but he doesn't care.  
  
The salt in his tears nips at his eyes, making them itch, makes his eyelids stick together. He doesn't like it, so he drags his sleeve across his face. It's streaked with snot and tears now.  
  
He must look pathetic, lying in this tub at he-doesn't-even-know-anymore o'clock. The circles under his eyes rival Virgil's, not that the Side has trouble sleeping. He's been sleeping especially well, since he left the Darks. The eyeshadow's for show.  
  
Someone knocks, and he startles, letting out a pathetic little squeak.  
  
_Think fast think fast think fast think fast think fast think fast think fast think fast-_  
  
"Leave me alone!" He calls, in his best imitation of Virgil's voice, hoping, praying that it isn't Virgil himself who's stood on the other side of that door.  
  
There's silence, filled by the sound of the shower running. He's glad, because it drowns out the sound of his crying.  
  
The footsteps recede, and he lets himself breathe. He slips his thumb back in his mouth. The taste of polish is bitter on his tongue. He swallows.  
  
It's cold.  
  
He snuggles closer to his blanket, conserving whatever warmth he can. It doesn't work. The cold is inside him, lives in the very centre of his bones.  
  
He can't get away.  
  
He's shaking. Tears hang off his lashes, weighing them down. He feels asleep, but he's wide awake.  
  
He looks up. The air is mostly steam now, and he watches the wisps dance around on the plain white background.  
  
He curls up, replacing his thumb with the edge of his blanket. It doesn't taste much better.  
  
He blinks, and his thoughts are going again. He wants them to stop. He wants everything to stop. Just for a second. He wants to breathe. He wants to live, not just exist. He wants...  
  
He wants...  
  
He wants them to care, he realises. He _wants_ to be cuddled by Patton, _wants_ Roman to sing, _wants_ Logan to read to him.  
  
_Wants_ Virgil to smile at him.  
  
So he does what he does best. He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends. Pretends that they'll come eventually. Pretends that he'll be coddled, cared for.  
  
And, for a second, he convinces himself.  
  
They _will_ come for him. They _will_ give him what he so desperately craves. They _do_ care. They _do_ love him.  
  
It's true. It's all true. He's sure of it.  
  
But he's always been a good liar, hasn't he?


End file.
